tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6551735268323288492018-08-29T08:10:51.961+01:00A Pretty Faceprettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.comBlogger529125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-91238114793217535932013-12-31T16:18:00.001+00:002013-12-31T16:18:23.143+00:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><iframe style='overflow: hidden; border: 0; width: 720px; height: 362px' src='<iframe width="600" height="480" frameborder="0" src="http://embed.movshare.net/embed.php?v=882cb7704a3d5" scrolling="no"></iframe>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-60120814755400683812013-09-14T15:35:00.002+01:002014-01-03T12:20:43.491+00:00<iframe style='overflow: hidden; border: 0; width: 600px; height: 480px' src='http://embed.novamov.com/embed.php?v=52a92ba637cec' scrolling='no'></iframe>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-18613190281036956872012-04-10T12:01:00.001+01:002012-04-10T12:02:05.726+01:00<object width="775" height="453"><param name="movie" value="http://www.fupa.com/swf/law-order-double-or-nothing/lawandorder2.swf"><embed src="http://www.fupa.com/swf/law-order-double-or-nothing/lawandorder2.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="775" height="453"></embed></object><br />Find more <a href="http://www.fupa.com/">free online flash games</a> at Fupa.comprettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-59738679155600918652011-12-13T22:18:00.002+00:002011-12-13T22:18:21.218+00:00<iframe style="overflow: hidden; border: 0; width: 600px; height: 480px" src="http://embed.novamov.com/embed.php?width=600&amp;height=480&amp;v=4ea0b841482d9&amp;px=1" scrolling="no"></iframe>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-59283225162488316472011-04-02T15:00:00.003+01:002011-04-02T15:23:25.918+01:00why maybe i should start avoiding my havenLIfe is hectic right now. This morning was the first time in about a month I hadn't been woken up involuntarily (alarm clock, shaken body). Nevertheless, I woke up at 9. My body clock is that unused to a lie-in. This is the main reason why I haven't been blogging, or writing for leisure, or doing anything else creative, because when I'm not working or dashing or something, I'm lying in a zombie-like state on Facebook or some other unproductive activity.<br /><br />Anyway that's not really related to this post, apart from the fact that it means I have also basically stopped any semblance of 'creative shopping', which I see as combing through vintage and charity shops, or spending hours online looking for the best deal, or wandering across unexpected jewels at a market or boutique. It just requires too much effort.<br />But maybe my bank account would be better off I made shopping for myself a little harder. Instead, this past month, I have only been to the shops twice, and both times I could not be bothered to actually have to move from shop to shop so I just went to Selfridge's. That was today and the day of my last post. Surely that in itself has to be some testament to the ability of this shop to inspire me, or something. Never mind that I cannot afford 99.9999% of the items in this store. Surprisingly, considering its elite image, there remains a 0.00001% (I think the maths there is right...) of items which are exactly what you'd find on the high street, only they're laid out more beautifully, with more helpful staff, and air conditioning, and toilets, and space, and food.<br /><br />Hence perhaps why I can't help but find that one thing I've been looking for for years on end every time I go. Last time, it was the holy grail of trench coats.<br /><br /><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 119px; height: 346px;" src="http://i417.photobucket.com/albums/pp255/ellebelle2007/trench-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">My trusty trench in action, marching and protesting its little heart out last Saturday. </span></i></span></div><br />And today, Minnetonkas. Overpriced, maybe, but when there are only three pairs left and two of them are your two possible sizes and one of them fits perfectly, and last year's summer shoes all fell apart/got lost (don't ask), you can't really say no, can you?<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SH3tObx-pdU/TZcwY5JbNkI/AAAAAAAABnM/uOqIRNcyByc/s1600/P1010086.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SH3tObx-pdU/TZcwY5JbNkI/AAAAAAAABnM/uOqIRNcyByc/s400/P1010086.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590990666619106882" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">But now I think it's time to stop. I seem to have confused buying clothes for the summer and saving money for the summer. Plus, I was meant to write an essay today. </div><span></span>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-14361693530824123042011-03-06T19:15:00.002+00:002011-03-06T19:21:29.244+00:00haven<blockquote style="font-family: courier new;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Holly Golightly: </span>I don't want to own anything until I find a place where me and things go together. I'm not sure where that is but I know what it is like. It's like Tiffany's.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Paul Varjak: </span> Tiffany's? You mean the jewelry store.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Holly Golightly:</span> That's right. I'm just CRAZY about Tiffany's!<br /><br /><br /><br /></blockquote><br /><br />Is Holly Golightly a selfish, frivolous, materialistic high-class escort? Maybe. Is she impossibly beautiful, slim and glamorous? Yes. But when she comes out with words like the quote above, I can't help but relate to her. That's how I felt today as I stepped out of the windy streets and into the warmth of Selfridges. My yellow paper bag may have contained Topshop, but with its magic powers I could have asked to try on a million pound diamond necklace if I wanted to.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-40034499168368070112011-02-21T15:37:00.005+00:002011-02-21T17:11:05.972+00:00librarianFor some reason, boys always seem to tell me that I'm dressed like a librarian, and contrary to what they are trying to do, I don't get annoyed, because to me it's a compliment. I love books. I am going to spend three or more years studying exclusively books. Why wouldn't I want to be paid to live in a library? I take great pride in my tortoiseshell glasses, shirts and brogues Still, I also think it's a pretty stupid thing to say, because I don't know any librarians who actually dress like this, and I don’t think there is a librarian uniform, but if there were one it would probably consist more of brightly coloured coats, Marks and Spencers v-neck jumpers and calf-length skirts.<br /><br />When I stumbled across <a href="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/">this website</a> (appropriately titled 'The Literary Gift Company, it reminded me of the book group I went to which refused to be named 'book club', instead calling itself 'Literary Society') it definitely wasn't to my usual 'librarian nerd' taste. I like classy, not crafty. But the true non-ironic nerd deep inside me was charmed by<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/book-handbag-plato-s-the-last-days-of-socrates-989-p.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 396px; height: 396px;" src="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/book-handbag-plato-s-the-last-days-of-socrates-989-p.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />and<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/-she-is-too-fond-of-books...-tote-bag-1315-p.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 425px; height: 425px;" src="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/-she-is-too-fond-of-books...-tote-bag-1315-p.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />(actually nearly cried when I saw that this one was out of stock)<br /><br />and<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/red-riding-hood-antique-illustration-pendant-182-p.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 357px; height: 360px;" src="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/red-riding-hood-antique-illustration-pendant-182-p.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and my personal favourite....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/i-could-ve-been-a-novel-large-notebook-3101-p.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 350px;" src="http://www.theliterarygiftcompany.com/ekmps/shops/danihall/images/i-could-ve-been-a-novel-large-notebook-3101-p.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">UPDATE -</span> EVERY SECOND I DON'T OWN THIS MY HEART BREAKS A LITTLE BIT MORE:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.katespade.com/product/index.jsp?productId=11101972"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 201px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-grBzHDD5CJc/TWKcbPRwYyI/AAAAAAAABnA/oSRaAYNKRio/s400/pKSLCI1-9312440_kspr03_enh-z6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576191280409502498" border="0" /></a>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-32619717023773893672011-01-29T13:16:00.006+00:002011-01-29T13:46:12.097+00:00elementalMost adults I know don't like to wear yellow gold. It's quite a polarising colour. Is it an elegance thing? Is yellow too loud, colourful and trashy? Is silver more tasteful? I personally am attracted to anything shiny and sparkly, and gold tends to sparkle more.<br /><br />I also don't have an issue with mixing metals, which I know a lot of people do. Life's too short to care that the silver buckles on your shoes clash with your gold earrings and the brass zip on your bag.<br /><br />But to me, the important thing is balance. It's difficult to articulate because it's quite a visual and often instinctive thing, but sometimes the colours just feel wrong. Those last five words took about ten minutes to type, no joke. I was typing then backspacing then typing then backspacing, trying to think of specific examples, then trying to come up with a general rule, which just serves to prove that I would never make a very good fashion writer. Anyway. It's just nice to have options. A gold watch you can swap the silver one out for if it 'feels wrong'. Multiple bags and shoes with different buckles. I'm all good on that front. My wardrobe is plentiful. Like I said, I don't discriminate.<br /><br />On the jewellery front, I had a gap. A long silver necklace shaped hole in my life. This christmas I finally caved after lusting after a gold necklace with my initial on it since I first saw it approximately three years ago. I was (and still am) in love. My mum couldn't understand why I was so desperate for a new necklace when I had just bought this one. But accessories aren't boyfriends. I also just bought a pair of heels after obsessing over the heel issue for even longer, and I'm already feeling a flat-shaped hole in my life too.<br /><br />In a moment of shopping serendipity a beautiful but overpriced necklace was reduced by 75% and I grabbed it. My friend loved it too. I felt bad that I was taking away something so beautiful from her life. So I proposed we get friendship necklaces. Only, she likes her jewellery as loud as possible. She got the gold version.<br /><br />It feels ironic that in a post where I struggled more than ever to say what I wanted to, and ended up rambling on for quite a while to manage it, I could have just said everything I wanted to with some photos. So for those of you who don't like reading (in which case I've just realised you'll never get to read this), the above post in pictures:<br /><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567600943406279154" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TUQXj0LcafI/AAAAAAAABmc/MQ22fozSvIQ/s400/DSC_0735.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567602708886118626" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TUQZKlGo4OI/AAAAAAAABm0/k8u2Y5LY-TQ/s400/DSC_0712.JPG" /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TUQZKcwmMvI/AAAAAAAABms/c9KApk6-oOU/s1600/DSC_0727.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567602706646184690" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TUQZKcwmMvI/AAAAAAAABms/c9KApk6-oOU/s400/DSC_0727.JPG" /></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TUQYhwbRlGI/AAAAAAAABmk/unC7Bh1rSGw/s1600/DSC_0729.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567602007550825570" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TUQYhwbRlGI/AAAAAAAABmk/unC7Bh1rSGw/s400/DSC_0729.JPG" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>My cork noticeboard is meant to be for important pieces of paper, but it seems to have been invaded by necklaces and a huge map of Snowdonia.<br /></em></span><br /><br /><br /><div><div> </div></div><br /></div>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-41050797525642578602011-01-25T23:44:00.006+00:002011-01-26T00:02:13.477+00:00problem?Today, while adding my newest purchase to the nail polish box, I decided it would be fun examine its contents and to count all my polishes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TT9g5R7I1YI/AAAAAAAABmU/pUhBfbAhH_E/s1600/IMG00010-20110125-2338.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TT9g5R7I1YI/AAAAAAAABmU/pUhBfbAhH_E/s400/IMG00010-20110125-2338.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566274201633478018" border="0" /></a>My first reaction was wondering if maybe I had a problem. I decided that I did. But the definition of this problem evolved from<br /><br />I have far too many nail polishes<br /><br />to<br /><br />They're all the same colour! I have two true reds, two dark reds, two pastel purples, two greys and two hot pinks. Why?<br /><br />to<br /><br />Most of them are probably/maybe dried out anyway<br /><br />to<br /><br />I don't have any deep pinks, or light blues, or dark greens, or polish with a crackle effect. I need to buy more nail polish.<br /><br />Yeah, I think we need to go back to problem number one.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">EDIT: </span>so after I posted this photo, I realised there were two more polishes that weren't in the nail polish box but the make-up box. THERE MAY BE MORE.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">EDIT</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> EDIT</span>: weird that it happens to be a blog post about nail polish that has inspired so much thought, anyway, I decided to take a trip down memory lane and came across <a href="http://prettyfaceshelpinraces.blogspot.com/2008/11/nail-rainbow.html">this</a> post from 2008. Back in the day when I thought I had an impressive collection. Oh, the innocence.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-77761368754839976182011-01-20T19:12:00.003+00:002011-01-20T19:29:17.460+00:00painful gain?A couple of months ago, after a particularly rough night out, I woke up on Sunday morning and decided to stop drinking. That following Friday, however, I was invited to a pretty fancy party. I had nothing to wear and I was trying to resist the temptations of liquor. But then I found a nice shimmery gold dress in a local boutique and so I did my hair, put on my make-up and decided to go. Then it was time to choose the shoes. This part was not difficult. I only had one pair of heels, and this outfit and venue demanded heels.<br /><br />So I wore my gold dress with sparkly blue heels. No-one looks at your feet anyway, right?<br /><br />Maybe so, but my feet were the <span style="font-style: italic;">only</span> thing on my mind that night as I danced away, alcohol-free, and the pain in my feet steadily grew worse and worse. Here's a few things I learnt that evening:<br /><br />1) Dancing in heels hurts when your nerve endings are not numbed by alcohol.<br />2) Drunk people do not have the courtesy to avoid stepping on your toes.<br />3) Drunk people are not funny when you are sober.<br />4) The ground is actually really cold if you try to walk home shoeless in October, sober.<br /><br />After that night, two things happened:<br /><br />1) I stopped wearing heels.<br />2) I started drinking again.<br /><br />So for the past few months I have been stomping around in boots and brogues, happily dancing away while still painfully conscious that this outfit would look a lot better with heels. I have spent hours scouring internet websites and sale racks for a suitable pair, but with feet that hate heels as much as mine, yet a mind with a taste for spindly stilettos, this search has been fruitless.<br /><br />Finally, I found the perfect pair. They were approximately double my budget, and they were in the sale. But they were also beautiful and I bought them. The shoe gods must have been getting fed up of my unladylike footwear, because they blessed me with a sales lady who is not very good at mathematics, and further reduced the shoes' price.<br /><br />I love them. And they are called 'Carbonara'. Be still, my beating heart.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.katekuba.co.uk/images/SUEDE_LACE-UP_HEEL_PAIR.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 450px; height: 450px;" src="http://www.katekuba.co.uk/images/SUEDE_LACE-UP_HEEL_PAIR.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />There's just a slight problem. A problem entitled 'the bunion and extra half size of my left foot'. A problem which squishes and cramps my abnormally long left toes. But, I've done my research, and the luxuriously soft leather of these shoes seems perfectly suited to a shoe-stretching spray. I could also use the spray on the slightly too small toebox of my other beautiful left shoe. If that doesn't work, I will fill myself up with some vodka and brave the pain.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-73327279599823109272011-01-09T00:09:00.007+00:002011-01-26T00:12:53.503+00:00pretentiosityBeing pretentious is a bit of a catch-22 sometimes, isn't it?<br /><br />The word itself implies an act, a false face, <span style="font-weight: bold;">preten</span>ding to be something you are not. So can you even be pretentious if you hold your hands up and admit it? Because I am self-aware enough to recognise I bear a worrying number of symptoms of the typical pretentious student. I have the tortoiseshell frame glasses, am off to do an English degree next year, but not before a holiday around Europe on trains through cities with cultural landmarks but more importantly lots of bars. For god's sake, I even bought a tweed elbow-patched blazer the other week, and THAT wasn't enough. I had to replace the existing buttons with gold buttons too (top left).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i417.photobucket.com/albums/pp255/ellebelle2007/P1000983.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 640px; height: 480px;" src="http://i417.photobucket.com/albums/pp255/ellebelle2007/P1000983.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />But I think the final straw came last week when I went to pick up the developed photos from my disposable camera last weekend. Yes, an old school Kodak disposable. The first half of the photos are from my recent holiday to Istanbul. I could always plead the excuse that I forgot my digital camera, but I won't deny that I took secret joy in trying to get arty angles of the authentic side of the city - no cheesy posing in front of buildings for me!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs1360.snc4/163209_1643790048604_1052433087_31714991_8259197_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 604px; height: 415px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs1360.snc4/163209_1643790048604_1052433087_31714991_8259197_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I want the protests, the noise, the unposed passersby (except for when they get in the way of my carefully composed portraits). I want the multi-layered landscape.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/hs027.snc6/165774_1643791368637_1052433087_31715004_3345417_n.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 585px; height: 720px;" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc6/hs027.snc6/165774_1643791368637_1052433087_31715004_3345417_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />That's until I got bored half-way through the film and forgot about the camera, until New Years Eve. The next half of the film is a sequence of drunkards pulling more and more stupid faces while dancing to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dubstep">hideous noise</a>. But it's all OK, because our New Year's Resolution is to read <span style="font-style: italic;">Ulysses</span>.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-13543881037739162502011-01-01T17:40:00.004+00:002011-01-02T20:40:39.952+00:00shamelessI have lots of exciting new acquisitions which I want to share with you all, but that will have to wait as today I am going to be a bit shameless.<br /><br />In order to make room for my new stuff, I have decided to not only clear out as I do periodically anyway, but also try to sell my old stuff for the first time. Who knows how it will go as I am totally inexperienced in this field. Anyway, I currently have a dress up for sale which I love love love and posted about on one occasion on this blog, but have never worn. I am probably going to add a couple of bags and bits and bobs over the next few days so I'll let you know if I do. But please have a look at my current listing because I have this fear that it is just going to lay there buried under all the other shiny and professional listings by hardcore ebayers.<br /><br /><a href="http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&amp;item=260715417467&amp;ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT">CLICK HERE</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TR9o6S6GXnI/AAAAAAAABmM/qgmQBG338To/s1600/P1010005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TR9o6S6GXnI/AAAAAAAABmM/qgmQBG338To/s400/P1010005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557275815915708018" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Update:<br /><br />click <a href="http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=260715596656&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT">HERE</a> too! And <a href="http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=260716041647&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT">here</a> and <a href="http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=260716054187&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT">here</a> and <a href="http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=260716066224&ssPageName=STRK:MESELX:IT">here</a>.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-46696575008743570642010-12-20T12:26:00.003+00:002010-12-21T22:26:42.793+00:00imposterSo, I have either reached the final frontier of fashion blogging...<br /><br />or I must relinquish my total and finally admit it: I am a total fashion imposter.<br /><br />This is what I wore on Saturday night:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i417.photobucket.com/albums/pp255/ellebelle2007/P1000977-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 523px;" src="http://i417.photobucket.com/albums/pp255/ellebelle2007/P1000977-1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Time to bow out?prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-55501762575129383302010-11-21T19:32:00.005+00:002010-11-21T19:39:27.232+00:00wringing the words outThe only excuse I have for not blogging right now is that I am currently finding the formation of sentences highly painful. This may be to do with the 3000 word essay I am working on?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TOl1Dp938mI/AAAAAAAABlw/T4d-6xwyEd4/s1600/homage%2Bto%2Bp.png"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 163px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TOl1Dp938mI/AAAAAAAABlw/T4d-6xwyEd4/s400/homage%2Bto%2Bp.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542089522121536098" border="0" /></a>Much like the way my tooth-ache has prevented me from eating hard chocolate, but simply led to copious mugs of hot chocolate as an alternative, the pain arising from writing proper sentences seems to have led to experimentation in the form of badly punctuated poetry.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-30505846099879700112010-11-10T23:22:00.004+00:002010-11-10T23:35:13.510+00:00politicalI rarely get political. Even when the elections come down, I only vaguely know where my principles lie, and although I get concerned about social issues, I don't feel knowledgeable enough to voice my opinions. I make an effort to be aware of the different policies, everything just seems like empty promises. I supported the Lib Dems at the last election, because I liked their policies best, but a few months later it is shockingly blatant how little a policy means. One the one hand, this reminded me of how much I hate politics.<br /><br />But <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/education-11519147">this</a> is really pissing me off.<br /><br />I didn't attend the march today, and I really, really, really wish I did. This is something that will not (for once, I am too old) affect me but I feel like it was a bullet that literally brushed past me, and I really care. Violence is not the way forward and everyone I know who went seemed to approach it like a fun party, and I feel guilty for being responsible and not going. And angry. So of course violence is not the way forward, but this photo still just captures my mood perfectly:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://sharing.kypost.com/sharewcpo//photo/2010/11/10/fire_20101110122248_320_240.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://sharing.kypost.com/sharewcpo//photo/2010/11/10/fire_20101110122248_320_240.JPG" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Sometimes everything seems so wrong yet impossibly insurmountable that the only thing you feel you can do is TELL the world that it is wrong, even if you know it won't achieve anything, that it's not the way forward.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-79526464858111219212010-11-07T15:14:00.008+00:002010-11-07T15:50:32.596+00:00mineI have <a href="http://prettyfaceshelpinraces.blogspot.com/2010/04/rucksackbackpackcomfortable-ugly-bag.html">frequently charted my search</a> for a functional bag. I considered a backpack, before remembering that I am nowhere near hipster enough to not look like a tourist in a backpack.<br /><br />At the beginning of the academic year, I received this:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TNbC-B-4r7I/AAAAAAAABlY/uevRY2V6Ark/s1600/P1000960.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TNbC-B-4r7I/AAAAAAAABlY/uevRY2V6Ark/s400/P1000960.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536827162838478770" border="0" /></a><br />I convinced myself that I had not yet written about this big exciting purchase yet, the way I normally do straight away, because I hadn't had a chance to take a good illustrative photo. Whatever. I just took the photo you can see above, no repeats, and it is SOOC (straight out of camera), a low quality digital photo with absolutely no editing, cropping, anything.<br /><br />The truth is that I have quite complex emotions towards this bag. Does that sound silly? Does it sound stupid that I can extrapolate huge emotions, relationships, shifts in style, and more, from the purchase of this one bag? Is it ridiculous to feel that I could write a whole thesis on one bag?<br /><br />If I were to write the thesis, this post wouldn't be up on my blog before the bag had disintegrated into shreds. So I'll just present what the rough draft, the paragraph structure, of the thesis might have been.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Why spend £70 on a non-leather item?</span><br />My first desire for this bag arose from its function. The perfect size, shape and weight for a bag to lug around all my books, while maintaining style. But there are other bags that can do that. There are fakes that can do that. When I got this bag, it felt so special. I have very little experience in luxury brand names, but I have even felt their effect <a href="http://prettyfaceshelpinraces.blogspot.com/2008/07/label-whore-yes-i-am.html">when carrying a Chanel shopping bag</a>. When the bag is not simply a container but the item itself, it seems to be even more steeped in luxury, the gold-plated zips seems to take on an authentic golden sheen.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. The process of the purchase</span><br />I didn't spend £70 on this bag. The short story is that my dad got his sister to get it at a discounted price from a large department store. The long story involves family conflict, divorce, and when someone asks me how much I paid, I can say nothing, because it was an unabashed guilt-trip gift - which I do feel bad about now.<br /><br />The bag took a long time coming, and the first time I met my father to deliver it, his sister had forgotten to remove the security tag, so back it went and it was another week before she got round to sorting it out and I got it again. So it was a drawn-out process, especially if you factor in the years I'd been admiring its perfection from the corner of my eye.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. The damage</span><br />The idealised perfection of this purchase made it seem somehow timeless. It seemed justified because it was the perfect university bag, so something that will carry me through the next three years. But within weeks, scratches and stains were appearing. At first, these stressed me out. Then I realised this is that kind of item you use, heavily, and that is why I originally wanted it. I wore it out in the rain. The scratches and the stains slowly merged and faded and vanished.<br /><br />This is not a unique bag. But no-one else has my style, or my story. Like the scratches and the material, this bag seems to have somehow melded with me. I have extended to beyond the appearance and to what no-one else can see, but even the physical object has its own effects. <a href="http://prettyfaceshelpinraces.blogspot.com/2009/08/to-go-green.html">The colour green is an important symbol of self-flattery and acceptance, to me</a>. The strong aesthetic, slightly urban equestrian, combined with an item I wear every single day, represents the introduction of a constant in my otherwise schizo style. This bag is a book carrier, and I am a student. This bag is definitely mine.<br /><br />I feel incredibly self-conscious writing this post. Trying to finish it off, I still feel a sense of ridiculousness in ascribing this much importance to just a bag. Has a new item ever led any of you into a thought-process like this? What conclusion did you come to?prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-32359203035877307782010-11-04T20:52:00.005+00:002010-11-04T21:30:27.821+00:00a sampleBack when I first started this blog, I quite frequently posted poems I'd written, or extracts from creative writing, either that I'd just written or more amusing pieces from my childhood.<br /><br />I don't do this any more, not because the feedback I got was anything but wonderfully sweet and encouraging (because it <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>wonderfully sweet and encouraging) but because I rarely find myself writing creatively recently. It's either critical or autobiographical emotional outpourings, and I fear the first would bore you to death and the second would embarrass <span style="font-style: italic;">me </span>to death.<br /><br />The creative stuff I AM doing more of is reading poetry. I think reading poetry is a creative act, because unlike an episode of TV or a simple narrative, every reader brings a million elements to it which provides them with a personal experience of the poem. I'm not just talking about an emotional connection which can often come from a very short quote as well as a long poem, but the details you notice, the rhythm in your own ears, the different images and meanings which the same word can create in a mind made up of different life experiences, different pools of intellectual knowledge.<br /><br />For that reason, I love reading poetry even if it's about old age, or murder, or a Tudor courtship, or any other experience totally alien to me. I don't think it would be very easy to enjoy much many pieces of poetry if you were searching for one of the great canonical masters of poetry, a dead white male, to put words in an order which feel like you should have written them.<br /><br />But you still treasure the pieces that do. A sample:<br /><br /><blockquote>FOR DESIRE<br /><br />Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;<br />and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal<br />surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,<br />or cherries, the rich spurt in the back<br />of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.<br />Give me the lover who yanks open the door<br />of his house and presses me to the wall<br />in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I'm drenched<br />and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload<br />and begin their delicious diaspora<br />through the cities and small towns of my body.<br />To hell with the saints, with martyrs<br />of my childhood meant to instruct me<br />in the power of endurance and faith,<br />to hell with the next world and its pallid angels<br />swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.<br />I want this world. I want to walk into<br />the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along<br />like I'm nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,<br />and I want to resist it. I want to go<br />staggering and flailing my way<br />through the bars and back rooms,<br />through the gleaming hotels and weedy<br />lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks<br />where dogs are let off their leashes<br />in spite of the signs, where they sniff each<br />other and roll together in the grass, I want to<br />lie down somewhere and suffer for love until<br />it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again<br />and put on that little black dress and wait<br />for you, yes you, to come over here<br />and get down on your knees and tell me<br />just how fucking good I look<br /><br />- Kim Addonizio</blockquote>--------------------------------------------------------<br /><blockquote>THE DEFINITION OF LOVE<br /><br />My Love is of a birth as rare <dt style="font-weight: bold;">As 'tis for object strange and high: </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">It was begotten by despair </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Upon Impossibility. </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Magnanimous Despair alone </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Could show me so divine a thing </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">But vainly flapt its Tinsel Wing. </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">And yet I quickly might arrive </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Where my extended soul is fixt, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">But Fate does iron wedges drive, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">And alwaies crowds it self betwixt. </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">For Fate with jealous Eye does see </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Two perfect Loves, nor lets them close: </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Their union would her ruin be, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">And her Tyrannick pow'r depose. </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">And therefore her Decrees of Steel </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Us as the distant Poles have plac'd, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">(Though Loves whole World on us doth wheel) </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Not by themselves to be embrac'd. </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Unless the giddy Heaven fall, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">And Earth some new convulsion tear; </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">And, us to joyn, the World should all </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Be cramp'd into a <span style="font-style: italic;">Planisphere</span>. </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">As Lines so Loves <span style="font-style: italic;">oblique</span> may well </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Themselves in every Angle greet: </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">But ours so truly <span style="font-style: italic;">paralel</span>, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Though infinite can never meet. </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;"> <br /></dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Therefore the Love which us doth bind, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">But Fate so enviously debarrs, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">Is the Conjunction of the Mind, </dt><dt style="font-weight: bold;">And Opposition of the Stars. </dt><dd><br />-Andrew Marvell</dd></blockquote><div class="post-body entry-content"><dd>--------------------------------------------------------<br /></dd><blockquote><dd>From LYCIDAS (the last two sections)<br /></dd><dt><br /></dt><dd><span> Weep no more, woful Shepherds weep no more,<br />For <span style="font-style: italic;">Lycidas</span> your sorrow is not dead,<br />Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar,<br />So sinks the day-star in the Ocean bed,<br />And yet anon repairs his drooping head,<br />And tricks his beams, and with new spangled Ore<br />Flames in the forehead of the morning sky:<br />So <span style="font-style: italic;">Lycidas</span> sunk low, but mounted high,<br />Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves;<br />Where other groves, and other streams along,<br />With <span style="font-style: italic;">Nectar</span> pure his oozy Locks he laves,<br />And hears the unexpressive nuptiall Song,<br />In the blest Kingdoms meek of joy and love.<br />There entertain him all the Saints above,<br />In solemn troops, and sweet Societies,<br />That sing, and singing in their glory move,<br />And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.<br />Now <span style="font-style: italic;">Lycidas</span> the shepherds weep no more;<br />Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore,<br />In thy large recompense, and shalt be good<br />To all that wander in that perilous flood.<br /> Thus sang the uncouth Swain to th' Okes and rills,<br />While the still morn went out with sandals gray,<br />He touch'd the tender stops of various Quills,<br />With eager thought warbling his <span style="font-style: italic;">Dorick</span> lay:<br />And now the Sun had stretch'd out all the hills,<br />And now was dropt into the Western bay.<br />At last he rose, and twitch'd his Mantle blew:<br /></span></dd><dt>To morrow to fresh Woods, and Pastures new.</dt><dd><br /></dd><dd>-John Milton<br /></dd></blockquote><dd>--------------------------------------------------------</dd><dd><br /></dd><dd>I would love it if you shared a sample of your favourite poems with me. And if you would like, I would love to carry on posting up little samples of poems I love.<br /></dd><dd><br /></dd><dd>Note: some of you may find it amusing/shamefully nerdy to know that while I copied and pasted the text of these poems from sites I found on google search, I then went through the latter two in my original punctuation/spelling Penguin Classics poetry book to revert all the modernisations. Wow, I'm cool.</dd></div><dd><br /></dd>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-58664177797038755122010-10-31T15:47:00.003+00:002010-11-10T23:41:03.488+00:00This week I have lived in my <a href="http://prettyfaceshelpinraces.blogspot.com/2010/01/honesty-is-best-policy.html">Topshop pirate pants</a> and, oh the shame, tracksuit bottoms. It's been that kinda week. But I on general principle despise sportswear, and my pirate pants were starting to need sewing/patching up and generally looking a little worse for wear.<br /><br />I went on a bit of an epic search for an alternative, and came up with these.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://static.zara.net/photos//2010/I/0/1/p/9878/363/428/9878363428_1_1_3.jpg?timestamp=1283520664896"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 462px;" src="http://static.zara.net/photos//2010/I/0/1/p/9878/363/428/9878363428_1_1_3.jpg?timestamp=1283520664896" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I am NOT wearing them ironically with vertiginous heels and a £2000 blazer. I am wearing them slumped in a corner with the world's worst hangover, fuggs and a 'vintage' football shirt.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-46231786561393371102010-10-23T19:10:00.003+01:002010-10-23T20:05:00.968+01:00breathFor the past week or so, a twitch in my left eye has been extremely irritating me. The fact is, I am experiencing the extreme fatigue of accumulated stress and lack of sleep. So one day I decided to go to sleep at 10PM, but I was still tired the next day, on which I reverted back to normal and went to bed past midnight. I know, it's all my fault really. A couple of days ago, I even tried cutting out caffeine, but my eye continued to twitch.<br /><br />Today, the first day of my week-long break, after a night out last night, I woke up naturally at 9AM. I wanted to die. I was so tired.<br /><br />Plus, I had a whole day planned. On the way there, I just closed my eyes, and when I arrived at my destination, I really didn't want to get out of the car. But, I did. And as soon as I got out of the car, my tiredness melted away.<br /><br />I entered a world of luxury.<br /><br />London is a strange city, where a stone's throw can separate vastly different worlds. But even more drastic, the London I live in is in fact separated by miles, and often feels like a different city.<br /><br />In W1, everything is special. Everything is moneyed. Everyone is beautiful.<br /><br />I tried to marvel at and find meaning in Damien Hirst's 'Poisons and Remedies'<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i1.exhibit-e.com/gagosian/3a764521.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 350px;" src="http://i1.exhibit-e.com/gagosian/3a764521.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Then I desperately needed to pee and so used the Claridge's toilets (I was tempted to take photos but wisely abstained). It was the most beautiful toilet I have ever used.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cosmopolis.ch/london/claridges6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 394px; height: 312px;" src="http://www.cosmopolis.ch/london/claridges6.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Then, the biggest treat, tea at Fortnum and &amp; Masons (whose toilets nearly rival Claridge's).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TMMvZ4HH2gI/AAAAAAAABlI/AQXRAMwartk/s1600/IMG00033-20101023-1544.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TMMvZ4HH2gI/AAAAAAAABlI/AQXRAMwartk/s400/IMG00033-20101023-1544.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531316888946596354" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TMMvaZfjBJI/AAAAAAAABlQ/Nx1YgHCc4MM/s1600/IMG00036-20101023-1620.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 334px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TMMvaZfjBJI/AAAAAAAABlQ/Nx1YgHCc4MM/s400/IMG00036-20101023-1620.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531316897907410066" border="0" /></a><br />And finally, a (genuinely) fascinating art installation at the <a href="http://www.whitecube.com/exhibitions/cm/">White Cube Gallery</a> (and more beautiful people to admire).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.whosjack.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/clock2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 383px; height: 257px;" src="http://www.whosjack.org/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/clock2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />I felt rejuvenated. I got home, and went for an hour long run and when I finished I didn't feel tired. I think there must be some sort of fuel in beauty, either than or I'm still running on caffeine after abstaining for two days.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-15581886379668759582010-10-22T00:03:00.003+01:002010-10-22T00:07:38.167+01:00backwards and forwardsI'm still trying to work backwards and catch up, but time keeps on moving forwards and new things keep appearing. It sort of feels like when you try to climb back up an escalator.<br /><br />You see, I can't stop buying new things.<br /><br />I don't know what it is, if I'm trying to fill a hole in my heart, if I feel like money is burning a hole in my pocket now I'm not in crazy summer spending mode, or if I am just noticing holes in my winter wardrobe and am in the mood to shop.<br /><br />Actually, scratch that bit about needing stuff.<br /><br />I just bought a yellow bag.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ollieandnic.com/uploads/cache/297x278/imgM_1316_210HBL003_107_img4.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 278px;" src="http://www.ollieandnic.com/uploads/cache/297x278/imgM_1316_210HBL003_107_img4.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>(I was looking for a black bag)prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-13945739349276846722010-10-19T22:41:00.005+01:002010-10-19T23:00:48.567+01:00interludeI have so many ideas for posts to write, but they all require illustration (i.e. photographs). Photographs which I currently cannot take because I arrive home in darkness and flash is not my friend.<br /><br />So, for the moment, all I can post are memories of the sun. Memories of this summer, the strangest summer, or season, of my life. Maybe not even memories, more moments, which I barely remember passing. A summer of such intense feelings that they drown insignificant images. And now, these images have become connected to moments, thoughts, emotions and yet at the same time capture such a fleeting second. I can see them for their beauty, and that eases the memories.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4TmnjqwOI/AAAAAAAABkg/ullVY-p6Dhs/s1600/DSC_0540.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4TmnjqwOI/AAAAAAAABkg/ullVY-p6Dhs/s400/DSC_0540.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529878946632089826" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4Tm6pcM1I/AAAAAAAABko/uUnjHKaTou4/s1600/P1000854.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4Tm6pcM1I/AAAAAAAABko/uUnjHKaTou4/s400/P1000854.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529878951756575570" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4TmSj-k2I/AAAAAAAABkY/3RFZBFMY0WE/s1600/DSC_0558.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4TmSj-k2I/AAAAAAAABkY/3RFZBFMY0WE/s400/DSC_0558.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529878940996244322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4SZT47pwI/AAAAAAAABkI/qzSUu8MIVbI/s1600/DSC_0511.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4SZT47pwI/AAAAAAAABkI/qzSUu8MIVbI/s400/DSC_0511.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529877618502641410" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4SZqU58aI/AAAAAAAABkQ/8yfI3rWob1I/s1600/DSC_0414+%283%29+-+Copy.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 258px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4SZqU58aI/AAAAAAAABkQ/8yfI3rWob1I/s400/DSC_0414+%283%29+-+Copy.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529877624525549986" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4SY8BDj5I/AAAAAAAABkA/hARzyhwES70/s1600/DSC_0507.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4SY8BDj5I/AAAAAAAABkA/hARzyhwES70/s400/DSC_0507.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529877612094263186" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4RrPYe6VI/AAAAAAAABj4/_l68WIcAtlg/s1600/DSC_0510.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_pI2F89Yi0aI/TL4RrPYe6VI/AAAAAAAABj4/_l68WIcAtlg/s400/DSC_0510.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529876827018815826" border="0" /></a>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-55207382579597566342010-10-15T16:46:00.003+01:002010-10-15T17:14:04.019+01:00definitionI think I'm more of a winter dresser, in that in the winter I seem to start dressing more creatively. I have a few nice summer dresses, but apart from that my summer wardrobe is basically casual separates. Whereas, right now, I am shopping more, experimenting more, thinking about my outfits more.<br /><br />Before this shift, I had a uniform: denim and a black top. I was expert at varying on this theme, with a hundred different style of jeans and black top. It was a tad dull and uniform-like, but also comfortable and failsafe. Right now, though, I don't think I've worn jeans for over a week.<br /><br />Instead, my style's gone a bit mad. And I try to think about it, and analyse it, and come up with a definition, but I fail. Everyone around me, all of my friends, seem to have a perfectly defined style, while I wildly oscillate. While I am aware of my shifting moods, the thing which makes my undefined style all the more obvious is other people, and their comments.<br /><br />I love wearing pink lipstick, because it makes my lips look less corpse-like, but it's not as high maintenance as red lipstick. I love wearing waist belts and fitted silhouettes because they flatter my in-and-out shape. This personal preference has resulted in what I feel like a vaguely 50s/60s style. But this is simply a vague impression, and the main reason I have pinpointed it is the offhand comments I have remembered. One friend said I looked like a girl in a 60s inspired band, I looked them up and she has long blonde hair (mine is short and red). He then said it was something about the collar on my dress. A collar which is not even real, but stitched on. I am sure that the inaccuracy of the details in my '50s' look would make a die-hard retro fan break out in hives: no-one wore crepe soles in the 50s!<br /><br />Other times, at 7 in the morning, I will want to wear something baggy and therefore unconstricting, and so I will pair my flared pussy-blow blouse with an equally flared squared, and then I look like a member of the women's institute. That is not the intended look here, guys, and I don't appreciate the comparison.<br /><br />Someone told me the other day that she has never seen me wear the same top twice. I don't know her very well, and I was a bit taken back. I never <span style="font-style: italic;">feel</span> like I have very many clothes, buthen a highly clothes conscious male friend turned around and said 'you know, it's true, you have so many clothes'. I don't actually buy very much, but I also don't throw away very much, and when I was younger I had more time and money (to spend on clothes). As a result, my wardrobe is a wild mixture of old, new, and even older (passed on, handed down, borrowed), distinctive pieces neglected in a six month long black t-shirt and jeans phase and therefore totally familiar to me, but no-one else.<br /><br />Today I received a lot of compliments, and I understood why. It is not that my outfit was particularly special, and if I posted it on here it would not create a huge response (in brief: loght grey jersey mini-dress, charcoal wool cowl neck jumper, black leggings, cinammon wool legwarmers under tall browny-grey boots, stripy wool navy and white scarf, khaki bomber, khaki Longchamps tote). But it was a style which mirrored their own. When I wear pink lipstick and fitted retro dresses, I am a million miles off from the 80s red-lipped, sparkly, baggy and short vintage of my friends. Wearing a bright skirt or dress that reaches my knees is an even more foreign notion, and makes me look 'old-fashioned', be it in a succesful retro combination, or a less sucessful librarian unchic. Short, uncolourful and casual: familiar, ergo 'really, really nice today'.<br /><br />That's not to say I didn't like today's outfit; I did. I love the combination of the matching wool texture with the palette of a range of neutrals. I love being able to snuggle up a million layers. But for me, this is 'comfortable'. This is, 'I don't want to attract loads of funny comments about looking old-fashioned'.<br /><br />Reactions shouldn't form my personal style. But they do, and they inevitably affect the way I feel about an item of clothing, and my overall style. On this ramble through my thoughts over the past few weeks, I seem to have wandered away from the original path of 'defined style', a tangent which I don't feel too guilty about as it is a pretty well-trodden path. But I also don't seem to have arrived at a destination, a decision about how I feel about the whole act of creative dressing. The only thing I do know is that I am enjoying the journey, and seeing what new ideas I arrive at.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-62775523321694742272010-10-12T17:10:00.002+01:002010-10-12T17:25:32.050+01:00On Friday night, as I struggled to keep my eyes open and my brain engaged in wakefulness, I realised I couldn't remember the last time I had been free to do as I wanted, and not too tired to do it. Reading before bedtime is not an option when your eyes are forcing themselves shut...<br /><br />I decided that the next morning I would go for a run for the first time in more weeks than I could remember.<br /><br />It was painful, and short. But I felt so great afterwards.<br /><br />Sunday I dedicated to reading (a fiction, for pleasure, how novel) and then in the evening, I went for a walk.<br /><br />That is not to say that I am suddenly carefree and spritely: I am not. I slept 6 hours last night, and the night before. Hence, why although I decided that on Monday I would resume writing, I ran out of time and was a day late. Restoring the habits which practice makes natural isn't effortless, but I think it's important.<br /><br />I can feel the joltiness in my writing, I am too unused to writing outside of the restraints of essay structure. But I'm going to do my best, and I'm going to work backwards, and hopefully as I reach the point where I stopped writing, I will get nearer and nearer the fluency I had then.<br /><br />So.<br /><br />Most recent purchases:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.urbanoutfitters.co.uk/content/ebiz/urbanoutfitters/invt/5112423194478/5112423194478_Ivory_m1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 217px; height: 326px;" src="http://www.urbanoutfitters.co.uk/content/ebiz/urbanoutfitters/invt/5112423194478/5112423194478_Ivory_m1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/public/YaOPJBO2qR5PrIigO6DBzHD3OzhSxdsKKUl07glNeYSsEI8oFIvvm4v4E7Ar5Tj6ZvVM3W_UNHsRTnadsS4gnrKKYJAfncNYc3tyhE1_4tyBegLWRpJexdbLEbChl637fGjFzMgVYdRi7xAbWQXdiHZdYxAyS5J1QkY"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 180px; height: 180px;" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/public/YaOPJBO2qR5PrIigO6DBzHD3OzhSxdsKKUl07glNeYSsEI8oFIvvm4v4E7Ar5Tj6ZvVM3W_UNHsRTnadsS4gnrKKYJAfncNYc3tyhE1_4tyBegLWRpJexdbLEbChl637fGjFzMgVYdRi7xAbWQXdiHZdYxAyS5J1QkY" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Never fear; I only ever wear them together when part of a Catholic schoolgirl in Gossip Girl ensemble, which is only rarely (and no, I am not putting a picture of that up on this blog for all to see - if any of you are still out there).prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-83055403026977210212010-09-15T19:37:00.005+01:002010-11-10T23:41:40.824+00:00a london educationI am currently working on finding all things London-related for an English essay. It makes me wonder how important it is when reading or watching or listening to something to be able to personally relate to it. I don't think it's that important. But here is another video which is completely hilarious to me, for how many people I know I can relate it to, and I do suspect that it is completely boring if you haven't come across this particular species of dickhead?<br /><br /><object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/lVmmYMwFj1I?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/lVmmYMwFj1I?fs=1&amp;hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="640"></embed></object><br /><br />I keep on having ideas for posts I want to do but no time to do the writing or photos necessary. It's very frustrating.prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-655173526832328849.post-40868314189823469052010-09-01T20:29:00.005+01:002010-11-10T23:41:53.830+00:00goodbye summerLife has been so hectic this summer. I entered it dreading it because I had no idea what was to come. And now looking back I can see there is no way I could have predicted the events of the past month. How cryptic does that sound?? I wouldn't be able to start writing about everything, though, without suddenly sounding unbearably dear-Diaryish.<br /><br />I've been on a bit of a rollercoaster, and it's been fun and it's been horrible but it has never been in between. And so, I am very very tired. Tomorrow, I start my last year of school and I go back into a routine. I will have more time to think, to just be. To not be caught in the act of doing, and to be able to process the moments that just zipped past. And in doing so, I will finally write and read and reflect and rest. Maybe I'll even write more and better blog posts? (Here's hoping).<br /><br />The unwinding process begins. And for the first time in a long time I have time to just sit and waste an hour watching terrible TV. Isn't that wonderful?<br /><iframe src="http://www.zshare.net/videoplayer/player.php?SID=dl062&amp;FID=57369801&amp;FN=Criminal.Minds.S04E18.HDTV.XviD-XOR._VTV_.avi.flv&amp;iframewidth=530&amp;iframeheight=400&amp;width=480&amp;height=320&amp;H=" border="0" frameborder="0" height="400" scrolling="no" width="530"></iframe>prettyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04661448200472226599noreply@blogger.com2